


tell me something (or nothing)

by minahal



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dealing with injury, Descriptions of grief, Growing Old Together, M/M, Not Beta Read, Relationship Study, slight introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minahal/pseuds/minahal
Summary: Shinsuke and Atsumu's relationship through the years.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27





	tell me something (or nothing)

**Author's Note:**

> Very, very, very (I mean, very) loosely based off Rico Blanco's [ Your Universe ](https://open.spotify.com/track/7vWHppvllFJXdXf0xplZum?si=cKD5Cg0kR2i4r4Cvfe9YXA) because it won't leave my head and AtsuKita is everything to me. The title is taken from a lyric in the song.

At seventeen, he learned that his love is best expressed in notes and care packages. That it could be stored in a plastic bag from the nearby store. He only hoped the bottom wouldn’t break and spill from its weight. He didn’t say anything else before and after sending him home. There was worry pulling at the ends of his heart, if it was too much, too overbearing. But when he came home to find nine messages from him thanking and feeling embarrassed of his negligence, worry was replaced with the all-too-familiar feeling of love. He arrived in his classroom the next morning with a note and a bar of chocolate on his desk. The handwriting was neat but shaky. He smiled at the thought of him writing.  
  


At eighteen, his hand was held on the bus ride home from Tokyo. The other didn’t say anything about the fatigue he felt from their game as he stretched out his hand to wrap his own and rest it on his lap. He didn’t say anything either about the fallen tears dribbling between their palms. He sat there quietly, a firm grip on the other’s hand and it didn’t falter until they arrived at their dorms and had to get off. He gave it a light squeeze before untangling their fingers. He stopped him. It was his turn to hold the other’s hand firmly. He looked at him and he saw how he swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek. His brows were knitted and he looked everywhere but at his captain in front of him. He gave him a light squeeze and let the rest of the team go ahead. They stood in the middle of the lot, arms stretched out to hold each other’s hands, their jackets swaying from the slight breeze.  
  


At nineteen, they sealed promises on their pinkies. They shared a muddled conversation about “see you soon,” “keep in touch,” and “good luck” under the evergreen oak just outside their gym. Without the formalities, a blanket of silence surrounded them. They were leaning on their arms, the grass was itchy and the soil under their palms was moist. He placed his hand near the other’s and slowly interlocked their pinkies together. A million other promises sealed as soon as skin met skin. They weren’t looking at each other but the ghost of a smile settled on their lips as they watched the campus be bathed in orange light. Together one last time.  
  


At twenty-three, he didn’t hear anything except a slight thud and the shuffle of feet. Before he could turn around, arms were already wrapped around his waist. A familiar weight rested on his back and a chin dug on his left shoulder. He melted on the other’s back as he had done thousands of times before as if he was molded just for him. He was about to say something; “welcome home,” “you’re back,” “hello.” But he realized there was no need for words, as it always was between them. He patted his hair and kissed his temple, lips lingered a bit longer than usual. He smelled like sweat and his perfume. It was comforting and he wanted to inhale every last bit. He loosened the grip on his waist to turn around and look at him. On impulse, he brought his hand to his cheek, his thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. He dropped his hand to slightly tug at his wrist and lead him to their room to share secrets that only lovers would know.  
  


At twenty-five, his heart swelled from aching. It was a bad year for them but he knew those moments left as fast as it came. They slept with their backs to each other, only to wake at six am in the mess of limbs draped over each other and his head tucked under the other’s chin. They would talk about it in the afternoon. Except for tonight; he didn’t feel the electricity of bare skin and warm breath on the top of his head. He didn’t know that silence and darkness could be so deafening. They didn’t talk about it in the afternoon. How could he when he was alone? The house felt bigger by every hour he was gone. That night, he made a bed out of his heart, resting his entire weight on it. He sunk deeper and deeper and he let it envelop him until every dip and crevice of his body was covered in raw vulnerability. He flinched when he felt a tap on his forearm, pulling him back to the surface. He blinked and suddenly became aware of the water that pooled on the back of his neck. Before he could wipe it off, the arms he missed were wrapped around him. Secure, loving, absolute. The kind that he only wished he could also give in tenfold as his arms snaked around the other’s waist. The pool of tears behind his neck only seeped its way to his collar, with no hope of drying for tonight.  
  


At twenty-eight, even if he wanted to speak, he didn’t have the words to utter. The other’s raised leg was shaking slightly despite the other leg firmly kneeled on the grass. An orange afternoon sun cast the loveliest shadow over his face. He felt a puff of breath on his left hand as he offered it to him. The ring fit perfectly. Slim and gold. The light bounced off of it. His fiance wore a smile he’s never seen before. He was reserved, never the one to initiate affection publicly but right now, he felt like everything was too good to be real and he let himself be greedy for once. Before his fiance could stand, he launched forward and crashed the both of them on to the grass, careless of the white polo that he wore. They laughed at each other, two grown men giggling to themselves. In love like they were still in high school. In a childish way, maybe it really was laughable. How their love bloomed in high school and how for the most part, it was still innocent and immature even edging in their thirties. They gazed at each other; eyes love-drunk and selfish. He steadied his fiance’s head in his hands and kissed him, long and hard. Neither one of them broke it until the very last bit that their lungs could take. They kissed and kept kissing; bruising their lips and beating up their lungs. That night, they stumbled into their bedroom with heads spinning not knowing if it was from too little air or too much love.  
  


At thirty-one, he came home burdened with the entire weight of what he thought was the world on his shoulders. He drew him a bath; warm, like the doctor had said. In time, he knew that he would be better but never like before. In time, they would learn whether he would step foot on yellow or blue. He tested the water, swirling it around his fingers and soaking the gold band on his finger. He admired how natural it looked. As if he was destined from the day that he was born to wear this ring with his husband’s name engraved on the inside; that he was already engraved in the folds of his life from the start. That being together was nature’s course, like how vines inevitably intertwine. He called him from the bathroom and told him the bath was ready. He came into view, limping. He steeled and waited, not wanting to see the falter in his eyes. He didn’t need his pity. But he told him it was okay and he let himself slightly soften. He heaved him in the tub, disregarding the twist of muscle in his forearm acquired from working in the field in the morning and attending to him at night. His husband said sorry, he was fine and could get around normally. He didn’t say anything, only stripped off his own clothes and climbed into the tub. He sat behind him, enclosing him between the security of his own legs. He massaged his right knee gently, like what the doctor had suggested. Like what he did with all of her other suggestions. He shook slightly, his husband was crying. Pain from the knee or from the heart or from both, he was unsure. He trailed soft kisses on his shoulders. It was an offering of comfort, it was nothing much for now but the grip on the other’s own right thigh softened. They stayed there until their fingers and toes wrinkled. The delicate rustle of water, the soft smack of lips to the skin, and the silence filled the conversation between them.  
  


At thirty-two, purple and yellow bruises stained his knees. Before he sunk for the seventh time that day, a hand grabbed his forearm, pulling him up temporarily from the sadness that gnawed him from the bottom up. He looked at him and he wanted to cry but nothing came out. He choked out a hoarse scream. He muttered a soft, “get up, love” and held him close. Firm and comforting. He soothed his back with his free hand, shifting most of the weight on his right crutch. Circles creased his polo. His hand was steady and gentle. He never complained about the numbness he began to feel on the tips of his fingers. He swallowed every single “why” that he asked and replaced it with a hush and a kiss to his temple. He helped him choose his suit, between deep blue and black. He reminded him that Granny loved blue and how serene it was, but he felt like the color was too vibrant and he was far from serene. She wanted the ashes to be scattered on the field, so she could still be with him. He didn't know how he was going to stomach her absence while doing the work that she prompted. On their way home, his husband wrapped his arm around him and he fell asleep on his shoulder. A few miles from home, he heard him say “don’t leave” and buried his head deeper into the other's neck, still in a sleepy trance. His voice was laced with pain and desperation. It was like a plea. He was unsure if it was a plea to the gods or to just him. But he knew he would do anything, even anything beyond his power, to grant him just that. His brother shifted the car to park and he woke up. He gave him a small sad smile and he knew he would never think twice about his decision.  
  


At thirty-three, they decided to retire in his grandmother’s home. She told him that she took great care of the house for him and his lover. There were boxes scattered around the room, the smell of cardboard was still thick in the air. It took him two years to stand in the middle of her favorite area without his knees buckling. He lit a candle for her and said a small prayer. He found his husband sitting on the chair in the middle of their tatami, facing their field. His hand rested on his knee brace, rubbing small circles on the area. A year ago, they learned the harsh truth of him having to be confined on the blue rubberized floor. His back straightened and there was a slight crease on his forehead. Times like this, he was unable to read him. As if on cue, his husband looked back at him. He gave him a smile and signalled him to come near. He sat on the floor and leaned on the uninjured leg. He draped his arm on his thigh and rested his head on it while his husband’s other hand caressed the side of his head. He asked him if he was okay. He was, he just missed Granny a little more. He didn’t know it was possible but the hand on his face became gentler and softer. He said that she was always watching over us. They watched the room slowly bleed pink and how the ground swallowed the sun. He felt a slight tingle of pins and needles on his leg just before dark. Before he could stand up and ask him what they should make for dinner, his husband tugged on his wrist.  


“Shin, thank you.” He was looking at their hands.  


He looked at him. He was silent for a moment, thinking of anything that warranted gratification.“For what?”  


Atsumu shrugged. “Like, everything.”  


“There’s no point in thanking me.” His reply came not a beat later.  


“Yeah there is. Injuries suck ass. Death sucks ass. Life sucks ass.” The underlying bitterness spiked the softness of his tone.  


“So?”  


“So?” Atsumu repeated, taken aback.  


“What are you thanking me for then?” Shinsuke really believed there was nothing. There was confusion etched on his face.  


“You could’ve— I don’t know. Doing something else? Taking time for yourself? You always fussed about other people. Ever since what? High school?” His voice grew smaller. He dragged his gaze away and stared at the field. His brown eyes seemed barren under the muted blue and black.  


“So you’re thanking me for loving you?”  


“I guess?”  


“Why don’t you just tell me that instead?”  


He removed his wrist from his grip and intertwined their hands together. The gold bands rubbing against each other. Atsumu’s hand was clammy. He was nervous.  


“Baby, are you nervous? Telling your husband of ten years that you love him?” Shinsuke let out a slight giggle. He brandished their intertwined hands in front of him. The tips of Atsumu’s ears were turning pink. For his age, he could be cute sometimes.  


“No!” He rushed. “I’m just— I don’t know. Giddy? Excited? That you’ve been mine ever since up till now and you know, forever. I don’t know. Thankful? Scared? Like, a lot of feelings,” he said in one breath.  


“You sure don’t know a lot of stuff. How old are you again?” Shinsuke was surprised. Atsumu occasionally opened up and if he did, something would have prompted it. But they didn’t do anything the entire day, nothing major that would have cost him to be a little more vulnerable than usual.  


“Yeah, maybe.” He smiled at his feet.  


He stood up and tugged at Shinsuke’s hand. “Come on, let’s make dinner.”  


Atsumu smiled at him and he could swear that his eyes were glossy. He didn’t push on what he noticed. “Yeah, fish for tonight? Yeah?”  


“Sounds good.” He lifted Shinsuke’s arm higher, helping him stand up.  


They walked to their kitchen, hand in hand. Atsumu still had a little wobble in his gait without the help of his crutches. They only let go when it was time to prepare. Atsumu was decent in cooking but Shinsuke worked faster than him, only helping him to reach ingredients nearer to him.  


While he was cleaning the fish, Atsumu wrapped his arms around him without precedent and rested his chin on the top of his head. He did this a lot whenever Shinsuke was busy. But he never minded. He was halfway done with scaling, anyway.  


“I love you,” Atsumu whispered. The vibration of this throat slightly tousled the hair near it. “So much.” His hug tightened.  


Shinsuke hummed and smiled to himself. “Go prep the table, I’ll finish up here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Waaah thanks for reaching the end of my very self-indulgent and also coincidentally the first fic that I've ever finished. I didn't think my first fic would be born from an hour of sleep and brain rot over a song. I hope you enjoyed it at least!
> 
> ~~If there are typos and mistakes, no there aren’t.~~
> 
> You can find me[ here!](https://twitter.com/atsvkita) :D


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